flying
by dezel
Summary: [re-write] Alfred has never known how to properly deal with the world around him


_Inspired by Fun Home._

 _Please tread this story with caution as it contains on screen homophobia, abuse (domestic, child), xenophobia, themes such as suicide, coming of age, coming out, and alcoholism. I took some liberties._

–

Alfred never knew how to deal with the world around him, starry eyed as a child and becoming more and more bitter about the world around him. Part of him felt empty as a teenager, as though he were different from his other peers.

Alfred Frederick Jones had watched his classmates find girlfriends, had families who greeted them with warm smiles and dads whose mistresses aren't at the bottom of a smuggled bottle. Their fathers don't strike them with belts, hit their wives and they love their children. When he was a child, witnessing his father beat his mother black and blue, he had vowed to always love his children, if he had any.

On October 29th, 1929, the great depression hit. At first, Alfred didn't understand what that meant, he didn't really understand what was happening or why. All he knew that his world was going to be vastly different. His father really didn't speak of what was going on, and his mother knew better than to speak out of turn. Speaking of being jobless would mean a belt somewhere.

At some point, his parents started to bug him about a girlfriend, why wasn't he dating yet. Mark had a girlfriend already, so why doesn't he? Appearances is everything.

Alfred kissed Mark behind the school shed when they were ten.

Alfred enlisted when the United States joined World War Two, because he had to get out somehow. The idea of war was still so far off from his mind, that the realities were too much to bear for his young mind. While stationed in France, he had kissed his sergeant. It had been a long, exhausting day. The pictures he had seen his history books had seemed so surreal in comparison to destroyed cities, the bodies he had found. He's not sure who made the first move, but it had happened.

That kiss behind the shed suddenly feels like nothing.

"If you're queer, then I'll shoot your fuckin' head off." Those words were still so clear in his mind, a conversation he had with his parents after one of his old classmates was caught kissing another girl. A few days later, they had found the bodies of both girls. He had been home on a visit. "Ain't no child of mine is gonna be a faggot in my own home."

"Such a shame." His mother had tsked. "A waste of beauty."

Alfred resolved to never speak of either of those kisses, the dawning realization and the off feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Concluding all of this, Alfred isn't sure what happened from then to now, where his daughter stands in front of him with hands on her hips and her wispy blonde hair in her face and face scrunched in a scowl.

"You _promised_!" The accusatory in her voice sends chills down his spine.

He chose to marry this woman that he used to go to school with. She was nice enough, and easy on the eyes. At least, she put up with his obsessions with the world and more recently comic books. For all that Alfred could muster, they had two children. A boy and a girl, and Alfred said enough was enough. He felt like he was lying in the eyes of God for having sex with a woman, someone who he would never be attracted to.

"You said you wouldn't work today."

"I'm sorry, Mia, I'm just. It's been a busy day today-"

"It's excuse after excuse with you!" The eighteen year old sounds exasperated. He feels just as frustrated as she sounds. "I'm leaving _tomorrow_ , and you decide to _work_?"

"Amelia, I can't help if people die."

"Yeah, okay. Whatever, dad."

Alfred sighs, watching her as she storms out, decidedly upset. There's nothing he can do to help with that, and nothing he can do if someone needs him there. Running a morgue is a difficult and demanding job at times, especially if you're one of the only other morgues in town. Amelia knows this, he knows she knows that she's aware of this. She's just like him, stubborn and was like him as a teenager, moody. He opens up the top drawer of his desk, pulling out the bottle of whiskey and opens it up. Alfred no longer bothers to even use a shot glass, it just doesn't matter anymore.

After taking a swig of it, Alfred tries to buckle down on his paperwork. However, that proves difficult as he continues to drink the alcohol as though it were water, and finds himself unable to focus. With a heavy sigh, he sets down his pen and buries his face in his hands.

Somewhere in their house, he hears his wife call out that dinner is ready and that it is Amelia's last day. He's too drunk to go out there. He loves his children so much, but yet, he can't bring himself to _fully_ love them.

Somewhere beneath all his papers, is a secret letter from his former sergeant. It's a confession, a suggestion they meet up if he ever returns to their little town.

A secret that nobody will never know.


End file.
